


Five  Moments of Chaos

by Ayla221bee



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Casual Sex, Desk Sex, Developing Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Top Greg Lestrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayla221bee/pseuds/Ayla221bee
Summary: Five moments that Mycroft and Greg share over the course of Greg's divorce. The two of them are never quite sure what this relationship is or where it is going...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if anyone wanted this fic or needed it, but I hope that it's alright!

“How is the separation going?” Mycroft asked, breaking the long silence that had fallen between the two of them since they had finished talking about Sherlock. 

  
Greg let out a bitter bark of a laugh, unsure why he had continued to stay in Mycroft’s office once the business had been discussed. He wondered why he had even agreed to even see Mycroft in the first place, allowing himself to be ordered to visit Mycroft just from one text message. “You don’t do small talk do you?” 

Mycroft shifted on his desk chair and for a brief moment, his expression turned sheepish, quickly replacing it with his unusual emotionless expression and with a raised eyebrow. Greg would say that he almost looked amused, but he didn't know if Mycroft actually had a sense of humour or not. “I was trying to make conversation,” he said. “I thought that we should probably have. We’ve known another for years and we never had one until now.”

He stood up and poured two glasses of scotch, handing one to Greg with his long cold fingers brushing against Greg’s hand. He frowned and wrinkled his nose in disgust as Greg took a long swig from the glass. “You are meant to sip at it. Do you know how expensive a bottle is?” 

Greg had the feeling that it probably cost more than a month’s rent. It was probably some fancy gift from a high up official from work. He looked at Mycroft with a raised eyebrow, unimpressed about being told how to drink scotch and drank the rest of the glass in a defiant swig. “Why don’t you just buy me a bottle of it and I can learn to drink it properly,” Greg muttered, placing the glass on the table. “It would be nice if you actually thanked me once. The separation is going fine. I don’t even know why you are even interested.”

“I am just being friendly, Gregory,” Mycroft said smoothly. He seemed to take a great interest in what he said, taking it into careful consideration. “I believe that whatever we are- co-workers is perhaps the best way to describe our relationship with my brother, is meant to take interest in another. Social convention and such.”

His piercing eyes seemed to linger on Greg for a moment, looking at him up and down. He had done this to Greg many times before, it was hardly anything new. He did not look as if he was deducing him, almost admiring him. He looked away, moving his gaze to the glass of scotch that he was swirling around the glass, pretending not to look the slightest bit interested in him, dismissing him as if he was a piece of furniture. 

  
“No one calls me, Gregory,” he said, rolling his eyes at Mycroft. “If you are going to pretend to take an interest in me, at least call me Greg.” 

“I am not pretending to take an interest, Greg,” Mycroft said, wrinkling his nose at the end of the sentence at saying his name. “If you do not mind me saying, your marriage is far from being fixed. It would save you more time getting the divorce now. It would spare you some heartache.”

  
Greg looked away and poured himself another glass without asking Mycroft’s permission. He knew that he should leave. He was much closer to the door than he was to the drink’s table but he did not make himself leave. He discreetly looked at Mycroft, his tie went well with his piercing eyes, almost seeming more dressed up and full of pomp than usual. He briefly wondered if Mycroft had dressed up for their meeting, deciding to go with the fancier office than he usually chose when it came to their meetings. 

  
There was something about Mycroft that drove him mad. Mycroft Holmes with his fancy suits and his swanky office. He knew that he shouldn’t have fancied a pompous git like Mycroft, one who was very aware of his importance despite his claims that he had only a ‘minor position,’ in the government. There was something about him that made Greg go weak at the knees with a single look and go into random black cars, going to him with one text message. He always did have a thing for posh boys. 

“I never knew that you were a relationship expert,” Greg spat out, not sipping his scotch again to annoy Mycroft. “Why on earth are you eager for me to get a divorce? You can have me at your beck and call whenever you want? I’m not your brother’s handler! A goon for you to order about!” 

Mycroft raised his chin definitely at him, giving him a look that would make weaker men weep and afraid, but Greg did the same. “I’m not afraid of you and I’m not doing what you tell me to do. I only help out Sherlock and let him work because I like him and I care about him. It’s not because of you,” Greg said with a humourless laugh, leaning across the desk so that he was in Mycroft’s face, feeling Mycroft’s breath and he could see him swallow hard. “I know what blokes like you are like and you don’t scare me.”

He carefully inspected Mycroft’s face, unsure what to make of the expression on it. He looked confused, probably in shock that someone was standing up to him for once. There was a hint of colour to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He believed that there would be a lot more if the lighting in Mycroft’s office wasn’t so poor. He knew that Mycroft had picked the darker office for dramatic impact, there was nothing simple about the man. 

The other man had swallowed hard, wetting his bottom lip. There was a hungry look in his eyes, almost begging. 

Greg looked at him for a moment, breathing hard. Before he could change his mind, he yanked Mycroft’s tie, crushing their lips together. Mycroft let out a surprised noise, moaning softly as he parted his lips for Greg. 

  
“This is why you are interested in my separation?” Greg asked, with a humourless laugh, losing his tie. “How soundproof is this place? What about your secretary?” 

“She is very discreet,” he breathed out. He pressed the buzzer by his desk, telling the woman who was by the desk outside his office to go for lunch in a surprisingly composed voice. 

He waited for the soft click of her heels to fade away before he took off his suit jacket and placed it on the back of the chair. He allowed himself to be bent over the desk by Greg once he had pulled out a package from his desk drawer with a raised eyebrow and a smug expression on his face.    
  
“You’ve been planning this,” Greg groaned out, opening up his belt. “We are talking about this later.”

“We go on as nothing has happened,” Mycroft said. “No one needs to know, especially not my brother. This is a one-time thing.”

  
“Deal,” Greg nodded, fiddling with the box. 

  
“I recommend that we get on with it, Greg,” Mycroft ordered him lightly with a raised eyebrow, quickly turning down the framed portrait of the Queen that was on his desk so she wasn’t watching them. “I haven’t got all day.”

  
There was nothing more Greg wanted to do than to remove the smug look of Mycroft Holmes face. He walked over to the door and locked it, guaranteeing that they wouldn’t be interrupted. 


	2. Chapter 2

He had been doing perfectly well that day without Mycroft bothering him if he could describe his day as being that in the first place. 

He was hardly in the mood to deal with Mycroft that afternoon, ignoring the text messages that were sent to him from the other man and closing the curtains in disgust when he saw a familiar black car with tinted windows parked outside the window. When he had peeked outside the curtains, he caught a glimpse of Mycroft outside the car with a cigarette, obviously planning to  _ accidentally  _ bump into him when Greg went to take a break from his desk. 

He had told Mycroft that he hadn’t wanted to see him that afternoon, that he was busy with work, and that he desperately needed to catch up with the paperwork in the text message that he sent him before he put his phone in the drawer. When Mycroft phoned him, requesting that they should meet up to have a ‘catch up,’ and to hand over some files, he grumbled to him that he should have his assistant drop them off for him. 

He knew what would happen if he had a ‘catch up,’ with Mycroft, deciding that it was best not to have one when he was in a foul mood. He knew that it would ruin the arrangement that he had with Mycroft if he could even call it one. They would talk about Sherlock, exchange case files, drink a few glasses of scotch, and then have sex. They would have a cigarette and try to engage in small talk before going on their separate ways until the next time. 

Their meetings happened once every couple of weeks or once a month. He had no idea who had come up with the idea of this arrangement or when it had actually started or if it would actually end, only ebbing away during the small occasions when things with his wife started to temporarily improve for a week or two at the most before they were back on their break. 

He looked at the report that he was working on with a sigh, realising that he had barely gotten any work done since the first text message from Mycroft, an invitation to meet up with another and have a 'meeting' Mycroft being as pretentious as he was, insisted on calling their flings that, claiming that it was more dignified than calling it what it actually was. He hadn't been able to get any work done that morning, spending the early hours of the evening being screamed at by Karen and their break in their marriage being extended indefinitely. 

She accused him of not caring enough about her, unhappy that he spent more time in the office and spent his free evenings and afternoons visiting Sherlock in the rehab clinic that he was in. She claimed that he cared more about Sherlock than he did her and Greg knew that there was a hint of truth to it. 

She had never liked Sherlock in the first place, furious that he had brought Sherlock home on the day that he met him and allowed him to sleep on the sofa, allowing him to stay until he got back on his feet. She couldn’t see the brilliance that Greg saw in Sherlock, unwilling to see Sherlock as a person, only seeing him as an addict. 

With a sigh, Greg fished up his phone from the drawer and sent a simple text to Mycroft: 

_ Are you still wanting to meet up? Difficult day today. -GL. _

A text came back almost instantly from Mycroft and Greg slipped on his coat, making his way to the car, slipping into the black car next to Mycroft without a word.

“Are you wanting to discuss matters now or later?” Mycroft asked, nodding to the briefcase that was on the middle seat of the car. It was the only thing that separated them from one another. “How are things?”

Greg shook his head and let out a bitter laugh. “I know that you aren’t interested in what is going on, nothing of interest anyway. How are you?” 

“Difficult day,” Mycroft said simply. 

  
“What’s been going on with you?” Greg asked, unsure about if he was supposed to ask or not. They never really engaged in small talk in this arrangement even though they were apparently 'friends,’ these days. They hardly talked about anything personal, there was hardly any time to do it or space to do it between another’s mouths when their worlds collided with another.

“Work stress,” Mycroft explained briskly. “You know that I cannot-” 

“Confidentiality and all that,” Greg said, shrugging. 

“Would you be alright if we go to my apartment?” Mycroft asked. “The car will drop you back to where you need to go. My office is being renovated at the moment.”

“That’s fine,” Greg shrugged. “Will be a nice change from shagging in your fancy offices. My back is still sore from doing it on the sofa the last time.”

Mycroft let out an undignified huff and wrinkled his nose in disgust, it was an expression that he usually wore on his face whether he said something in particular or had done something that was against Mycroft’s ideals such as knocking back good scotch that was meant to be sipped. He took great pleasure in annoying Mycroft, it prevented him from getting too attached to Mycroft, and believed that it had a similar effect on Mycroft. 

“Does the word shagged bother you?” Greg asked, not bothering to hide the smirk on his face. “You have said more explicit things to me. Don’t act all high and mighty.”

“For a man as intelligent as yourself, I thought that you would have a more extensive vocabulary,” Mycroft sniffed. 

“You think that I’m intelligent?” Greg asked, not allowing himself to take the half-compliment from Mycroft. “Is this your way of trying to get into my trousers? You must be needing a shag.”

He smirked when Mycroft let out a sigh of despair at him.

Mycroft gave him a tour of his home as they sipped expensive scotch once they had some dinner. The evening was far more civilized for Greg’s liking; expecting that he would be shagging Mycroft into a mattress and after some strong alcohol and once they had discussed Sherlock’s progress in treatment. 

It almost felt like a date if Greg had to call it something. He hadn’t been on a proper date with a posh bloke in years, unsure if they gave the men who they were wanting to have sex with tours of their homes as some upper-class form of foreplay. 

Mycroft had taken him to a library with comfortable worn leather chairs. Greg had helped to set up the fireplace, preventing Mycroft from getting his hands dirty. They sipped at two more glasses of scotch before Mycroft opened up his trousers and went down on his knees on the expensive-looking fake fur rug in front of the roaring fireplace. 

He didn’t know how long this thing between him and Mycroft would last but he wanted to make it last as long as it could before it would burn out. He knew that he was only a novelty to Mycroft, a piece of rough for him but he didn’t mind too much, the only thing that mattered to him was that moment, and having Mycroft on the expensive rug, he would think about the real world again only when he needed to. 

“Thanks for tonight,” Greg asked, pulling on his shirt. “I suppose that I should get out of your hair and let you get on with things. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Mycroft shook his head, lounging one of the leather armchairs in a dressing gown and a cigarette between his fingers. “It was good to have you here,” he said, offering Greg an attempt at a smile. “Until the next time?”

Greg nodded, letting out a sigh and scrubbing his hand through his hair in the attempt to flatten it. “I suppose so, want to come around for dinner next time? It only seems fair since you put me up for the night.”

Mycroft shook his head, offering the cigarette to Greg with his long fingers. “I do not feel comfortable there. Once you get your own place, it will be different.”

  
“It’s not like Karen is going to come in,” Greg said, shaking his head, a bitter note in his voice. “We are allowed to see other people in the break and we are on this break indefinitely.”

“Why are you dragging this out? “Mycroft asked, somewhat boldly. “You are miserable in this marriage of yours. In the time that we have been involved with another, you have been back together with her for two weeks at the most. It is best to just let go.”

“What makes you a relationship expert?” Greg asked bitterly. 

“I didn’t say that I was one,” Mycroft said. “I do apologise if I’m overstepping my boundary. I was only giving you my opinion.”

Greg shook his head. “Mycroft, we aren’t talking about this.”

“You deserve a lot better,” Mycroft said. “I know that it is not what you would like to hear but it is my thoughts on the matter.”

“We aren’t in a relationship,” Greg said bitterly. “This is just sex. I thought that we agreed that it was just casual sex. You don’t want a relationship or anything more than that, and I’m the same. It’s a miracle that it’s not fizzled out already, the two of us don’t have much in common.”

“We never do have time to engage in pillow talk,” Mycroft said, sighing quietly. “I am not saying that it is me you would or should be with, but I know that you deserve better. Why allow yourself to be miserable? I’m only saying this as your...friend.”

Greg pulled on his coat once he had found his shoes, trying not to let Mycroft’s works stick to him. He walked over to Mycroft and kissed him gently. “Thanks for being my friend, Mycroft. Until the next time. The usual?” 

“Only a text away and you can come over when you are free,” Mycroft said, attempting a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Do you want me to wait with you until my driver arrives?” 

Greg shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets, and shuffled from one foot to the other. . “No point in you going into the cold. I’ll see myself out...I did have a good time with you tonight.”

“Me too,” Mycroft murmured. “Until the next time.” 

  
  


  
  



	3. Chapter 3

John Watson collided into their world at a rapid pace, shaking up the uneven and fragile dynamic that Sherlock, he, and Mycroft had. Mycroft would often give him cases for Sherlock; he would give them to Sherlock and was one of the few people that wanted to work with Sherlock and Sherlock willingly worked with him. and he ended up in bed with Mycroft after a meeting before and after a case, still somehow undetected by Sherlock even after all that time.   


  
Greg wasn’t sure if he was to be shocked or impressed that an unassuming stranger, someone rather ordinary had taken a shine to Sherlock and had willingly put himself into his world of chaos. Greg had several flatmates over the years since he had moved into London before he had settled in with his wife and he knew for a fact that they were rather plain in comparison to John Watson. 

He didn’t know anything about the man, he seemed nice enough and Greg had the feeling that he might stay around with Sherlock for a while. He hoped that John would do so, Sherlock did deserve a rather normal friend. 

He had met Sherlock’s past attempts at friends and they had been unsavoury characters that he didn’t like in the first place, but John was different, hardly seemed phased about being on a crime scene, and took Sherlock in at his stride. 

There was a pang in his chest and the feeling of disappointment that filled him when he looked at John.. He knew that Mycroft wouldn’t want him hanging around as much or need him if Sherlock had a proper mate now.

They had been having sex on and off now for a year now. It wasn’t a relationship or anything, Mycroft didn’t want anything and he had been put off after all the drama with his wife, almost fearful that his problems with his marriage would be repeated with a new relationship. 

He liked Mycroft in small doses, that’s what Greg told himself at least. He disliked the pomp of Mycroft and how he knew that he was smarter than most people, unafraid to show it off. He liked to tease Mycroft about how he liked to peacock, strutting around in his fancy suits, showing off the big offices and fancy cars with tinted windows. 

  
He often reminded himself of the things that he disliked about him in the attempt to stop fancying him more than he should do, finding himself frustrated that he still had his thing for posh boys. He still had his thing for Mycroft. 

He hardly knew why he was even surprised to see Mycroft waiting outside his usual pub once he had finished all of the paperwork that evening. He would have asked if he cared, finding himself too exhausted from work to even ask the question. 

  
“You don’t do pubs,” Greg said. 

  
“I do occasionally,” Mycroft replied, looking fully out of place in his three-piece suit. “More so in my students' days admittedly.”

“You went to the pub when you were at uni?” Greg asked, surprised. “I thought that you would have been one of those students who lived in the library and didn’t go out.”

  
Mycroft scoffed, shaking his head. “I did allow myself to have a good time occasionally.”

“As you do now,” Greg muttered under his breath, smirking when Mycroft rolled his eyes and let out a noise of disgust at him. “What are you drinking?”

Mycroft blinked. “You are wanting to buy me a drink?”

  
“Figured that I should buy you a drink,” Greg shrugged. “It’s probably time that I do so, seems polite after all the shagging especially the last time.”   
  


He smirked as Mycroft wrinkled his nose in disgust at him, uttering that he was ‘common,’ for using that word. He politely reminded Mycroft that he had heard him use much more vulgar language the last time they were together. He barked out a laugh when he saw Mycroft’s ears go pink before he ordered Mycroft a pint. 

  
He watched Mycroft carefully sip at his pint, looking completely out of place in the pub. He pretended not to look amused as Mycroft pulled a face at the beer, clearly not enjoying it in the slightest. “Do you want me to get you something else?” Greg asked. 

“It’s fine,” Mycroft said, pushing the glass away from him on the table, looking unimpressed with the sticky table. “Thank you.”

  
“What do you think of John Watson?” Greg asked. He pushed the plate of chips that he had ordered across the table to Mycroft. “You can have some. Have you ever eaten chips or are you too posh for them?”

Mycroft snorted and huffed impatiently at him, helping himself to a chip. “He is going to the making or my brother.”

“And what?” Greg asked. “There’s something else that you aren’t saying.”   
  


Mycroft bit into his chip regretfully. “Or he is going to make him much worse, I’m yet to decide. Do you trust him?”

“As much as I trust you,” Greg said, hesitating slightly. 

  
“How much is that?” Mycroft asked, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. 

  
“You already know the answer,” Greg shrugged. “As much as you trust me...when it comes to your brother at least.”

  
Mycroft nodded and smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles from his suit, nibbling on his bottom lip, considering something carefully. “Are you still on a break or not?” he asked after several long moments. 

“It’s going to be the last break with her,” Greg answered, downing the rest of his pint. “I don’t know how long I can keep on doing this and I don’t think that things are going to get better.”

“What made you finally decide to listen to me?” Mycroft asked, slipping his coat back on. “I do not understand why you are still prolonging this.”

“You make it sound like you are interested in me,” Greg said, shaking his head at the notion. 

“I’m only wanting what is best for you...that's what friends do for another,” Mycroft replied briskly. “I can get the divorce paperwork for you as soon as you need it. I know someone who owes me a favor.”

“You sound keen for me to get divorced,” Greg said, letting out a humorless laugh. “I thought that I was just your casual shag.”

  
“You are my friend as well...I do care about how you are doing,” Mycroft said, hesitantly. “You should consider it to be a privilege that I am taking an interest in you. Hurry up, I don’t want to change my mind.”

Greg nodded and finished Mycroft’s discarded pint before he shoved his coat on. “Let’s go.”

“I’m thinking that we just go to my home,” Mycroft said, pulling out his phone. “I can get my driver around in ten minutes.”

Greg nodded, finding himself admiring Mycroft more than he should have done so. He blamed the alcohol and his exhaustion from being up all hours for his case for making things slightly fuzzy around the edges. He found himself caught up in the thrill of Mycroft whisking him away to his home or as Greg had referred to it as his ‘love nest.’ 

Ten minutes felt a bit long for Greg’s liking. He licked his lips and swallowed hard, looking at Mycroft. “How much do you trust me?”

  
Mycroft gave him a weighted look, giving him all the answers that Greg needed. He still found himself surprised that Mycroft allowed him to guide him into the small bathroom in the crowded pub, the two of them able to slip in undetected. 

He found himself more surprised when Mycroft locked the door and adjusted his tie before he kissed him, pushing Greg up against the wall by his arm. He let out a pathetic noise, almost needy as Mycroft began to fondle him through his trousers as they kissed, making work of opening his belt. 

Mycroft took him in hand, Greg muffled his moans with his hand in the attempt to not get heard.

  
He briefly started to worry if he wanted more as he left the bathroom, following a few moments after Mycroft. 


	4. Chapter 4

He didn’t know what inspired him that evening to send a text to Mycroft, inviting him to the pub. He knew that Mycroft didn’t exactly do pubs and most certainly did not watch football. He had other people that he knew who he could have invited to see the football, people who actually enjoyed football and prints, but instead, Mycroft was the only person he wanted to see. 

  
He was surprised that Mycroft had responded to his text, agreeing to watch the football with him. The reply came minutes after Greg had signed it almost as if Mycroft had been waiting for him.

  
He supposed that Mycroft would have been interested in meeting up with him; it had been several weeks since they were last together, their schedules keeping them apart from another and Mycroft had been sent out of the country last minute for work the last time he had arranged to meet up with another. 

He tried to pretend that he wasn’t too disappointed, he had lots of paperwork that he needed to catch up on and he had a boxset that he needed to finish off. It wasn’t as if he had been hoping to have Mycroft Holmes in bed seven different ways before breakfast and then perhaps maybe making him breakfast, he was a gentleman after all. 

He texted Mycroft the address of the pub, offering to buy him a pint to ensure that he would come over. Mycroft replied almost instantly again, the message simple and straight to the point: 

_ Will be there in ten minutes. I’d rather prefer you would order me a proper drink, not a pint. MH _

Greg grinned at his phone and inspected the sticky menu that was on the table. He didn’t know what Mycroft meant by a proper drink exactly but decided to pick the bottle of wine that was the most expensive and had a French label on the bottle.

It would have to do. He could barely tell a good wine from a bad one, never allowing himself to actually sip it and taste it, only knocking back whatever was in the glass that Mycroft handed to him to annoy him. He still found himself amused with the long-suffering sigh and the wrinkled nose that Mycroft had on his face each time that he threw back glasses of expensive scotch down his throat. 

Mycroft arrived shortly after Greg had managed to fight his way through the crowd at the bar and place his order to the overwhelmed-looking bar-tender. She must have been new, Greg hadn’t seen her before but he didn’t spend much time in pubs these days, having become accustomed to swanky London clubs and restaurants of late. He handed her a five-pound note once she had placed the drinks on the tray, giving her his best reassuring smile. 

Mycroft sat at the bar stool in his three-piece suit, looking unimpressed and rather uncomfortable in the pub. He looked right out of place in the crowded pub that was predominantly filled with university students, middle-aged men, and old pensioners that had been there since opening. He briefly wondered if this was the first time that Mycroft had been with so many working-class people in one place. 

He poured Mycroft a glass of wine and handed it to him, giving him a grin in greeting. Mycroft took a sip and wrinkled his nose at it, placing the glass back at a table.

“What’s wrong with it?” Greg asked, trying his best not to sigh. “I’ve just paid fifteen quid for that for you!”

“Red wine shouldn’t be chilled,” Mycroft sniffed. “It mutes the flavor. Aren’t you having any?” he asked, looking at the pint in Greg’s hand. 

Greg took a long and careful sip of his pint before he placed it down on the table, smirking when he heard Mycroft let out a long sigh and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “ You fail to sip fine scotch, bottles that are so rare and cost hundreds of pounds, throwing it down as if it is something cheap and you decide to savor a pint,” he said in a tone of disbelief, shaking his head. 

“I can drink what I want to drink,” Greg said, failing to hide his smirk as Mycroft muttered to himself. “I can order you something else ?”   
  


Mycroft shook his head upon seeing the crowd at the bar that was at least three people deep. He looked at the tv that was on the wall next to the table, watching the football game carefully and with a confused expression on his face, unsure of what he was actually watching. 

“Who are you supporting?” he asked. “I do not know who is a good team, I have only sporadically watched ‘the football,’ over the years.” 

He had never heard anyone call footie ‘the football,’ before. The way that Mycroft uttered those words made it sound as if it was a foreign concept or something from another dimension. It was impossible not to laugh at Mycroft at times.

“Arsenal,” Greg replied. “We can go somewhere else if this isn’t your scene? Even though I don’t know why you even came, it’s clear that you don’t like football.”

“Why did you invite me ?” Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow, ignoring Greg’s question completely. 

He took a long sip of his pint to stop himself from answering. He knew that if he actually answered, he would have to admit to himself that he wanted to see Mycroft, that he missed him when he was away. He would have to admit to himself that perhaps Mycroft was more than just a passing fancy for him and that he did actually like him. It felt almost painful to admit it to himself let alone to Mycroft Holmes.

  
“I just wanted to see you,” Greg mumbled, shrugging. “I thought that you could do with a night off. Why did you want to want to see me? Wanted another shag?”

Mycroft took a sip of his wine, pulling a disgusted face at it. “You bought me a whole bottle,” he said casually. “Planning to get me drunk? Or at least tipsy enough for me to ask you to come home with me?”

“Would be a good bit classier than the pub loo,” Greg shrugged, nudging Mycroft’s expensive brogue with his shoe. 

“Gregory,” Mycroft scolded him in a hushed tone. 

“Don’t pretend that you were taken there against your will,” he commented, smirking to himself. “If I do remember correctly, you were the one who locked the door and opened up my trousers.”

  
Mycroft opened up his mouth to reply, a snarky comment most likely but it died. He closed his mouth and blanched slightly, nudging Greg’s arm with his own. “We should go somewhere else,” he said. 

  
Greg lifted his head to where Mycroft was looking and knew that it was over, finding himself feeling rather nauseous and the confidence that he moments ago had just left him, making him feel rather deflated. 

She was at the bar with another man. They had been on a break but Greg knew that it was completely over this time. She looked more in love and happier with this bloke than she had done with him over the last five years. They had once looked so in love, he had pictures to prove it but it had faded over the years somehow. 

He had tried his best to keep things with Karen afloat, refusing to admit that perhaps he was just as unhappy in their marriage as she was but stayed loyal unlike her. He thought that perhaps he just needed to work harder and it would make it better, refusing to admit that he was happier the less time they spent together and during their breaks. 

“Can you do me a favour and get that paperwork for me?” Greg asked quietly. “I reckon that Karen is wanting to get this over and done with as soon as possible as well. I don’t care who gets what, she can get everything if she wants.”

Mycroft nodded and said something quietly that Greg didn't quite hear. He looked at his face, expecting to see a pleased expression, finding himself surprised that Mycroft had a look of pity there and uncharacteristically patted his hand. “Why don’t we go somewhere else?”

Greg nodded and put on his coat, allowing himself to be led out of the crowded pub by Mycroft, feeling defeated and deflated, relieved almost that his marriage was actually over. 

“Can I stay over at yours?” he asked, once he was guided into the car by Mycroft. “I don’t think that I can be in the flat with her things.”   
  


“You can stay for as long as you wish, ” Mycroft murmured. “You do have a key and you have clothes in the wardrobe in the spare bedroom. I can arrange for your things to be dropped off.”

“This doesn’t mean that I’m your boyfriend,” Greg muttered out, looking out of the window, unable to face Mycroft. 

  
“I know that you aren’t,” Mycroft said. “ I’m just your friend and we have sex, I’m doing what any good friend would do for you right now. You can have the spare bedroom until you are on your feet again. You would do the same for me.”

* * *

Greg threw his clothes on the chair, kicking off his trousers with his leg and leaving them on the floor, stripping down so that he was only in his boxers. Mycroft looked up from over his reading glasses at him, ignoring the book that he was reading, not so discreetly looking at his chest.

He placed a bookmark on the page that he was reading and took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand. He wordlessly pulled back the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets allowing Greg to slip in beside him. 

“We can just lay here tonight,” he said. “We can talk about what happened with your wife-”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” Greg grumbled out. “She is not going to be my wife for much longer.” He rested a hand on Mycroft’s chest, running a hand across Mycroft’s silk pajamas, carefully toying a button open. 

He kissed Mycroft, a silent question. He found himself relieved when Mycroft let out a soft sigh and kissed him back, pulling him close. 

  
“We don’t have to have sex,” Mycroft murmured, pulling him away for a second. 

  
“Thought that you would be pleased,” Greg uttered, opening up the buttons on Mycroft’s pajamas and kissing the skin that he had exposed. 

  
“I do not like it when you are unhappy,” Mycroft said, pressing a hand on Greg’s chest. “I do only want you to be happy. I do care for you a lot, Greg.”

  
Greg let out a breath, finding himself surprised with Mycroft’s confession. He hadn’t really thought that Mycroft cared that much about him, just assuming that he was just a thing on Mycroft’s schedule that he had to complete or just Mycroft’s method of stress management from work. 

“I thought that you didn’t do relationships, that’s what you told me.”

  
“You never have asked me what I wanted,” Mycroft said, his eyes almost looked rather sad. Greg blinked and the emotion had already left his eyes. He wondered if he was imagining things or it had been the light. 

He opened up his mouth to say something and shook his head, stopping the thought before it could come to anything.

“We should stop talking,” Mycroft murmured, cupping Greg’s face in his hands and kissing him again. He shot Greg that said: ‘ _ Are you going to get on with it?’ _

Greg huffed out a laugh and pulled the sheet over them, kissing him again and holding him close. He realised that he didn’t want anyone else, he wanted Mycroft. 

  
  
  



End file.
